


this dream is no dream at all

by the_little_bay_that_could



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brooklyn, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Homosexuality, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Homosexuality, POV Steve Rogers, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Slash, Slurs, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 16:51:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6996562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_little_bay_that_could/pseuds/the_little_bay_that_could
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was their two year anniversary, and sometimes Steve still had a hard time believing that Bucky Barnes, that terrifyingly handsome jerk, who always finished all his fights for him, was actually his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this dream is no dream at all

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this prompt: http://buckie-and-steeb.tumblr.com/post/145029906808/would-you-care-to-write-a-short-ficlet-where  
> "Would you care to write a short ficlet where 40's!Stucky are on their anniversary date and they decide to take a walk and hide behind a corner to kiss each other, but somebody still sees, reports it to the police, and angst and sorrow and tears ensue?"
> 
> I saw the prompt on that tumblr, I liked, and taadaa here we are!!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Use of homophobic slurs and period typical homophobia. Nothing too bad but be warned

It felt like a dream, really. Sure, that sounded a bit trite, but Steve swore it was the perfect night. The July Brooklyn air was warm and soft, and Bucky’s hand wrapped around his own felt like quiet comfort and fervent love intertwined, forming one, better whole. 

It was their two year anniversary, and sometimes Steve still had a hard time believing that Bucky Barnes, that terrifyingly handsome _jerk,_ who always finished all his fights for him, was actually his. Growing up, he had never even thought that it’d be possible. For Bucky to be his. He knew Bucky loved him, but had always stubbornly insisted to himself that Bucky had only loved him in a brotherly way. He was a fool though, a _punk._ Looking back, Steve realized that Bucky had been fairly obvious in his advances. And while subconsciously, Steve may have recognized these advances, his dammed stubborn conscious convinced him that it was too good to be true. Just like tonight was too good to be true.

“Hey, ya with me punk?” A smiling voice snapped him out of his thoughts, a friendly bump of the shoulder steered him into an alleyway that stood in-between a pizzeria and a laundromat. 

“Jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout you,” Steve flirted, blue eyes fluttering up to meet the green-blue of Bucky’s. 

“No needa think ‘bout me, I’m right here,” he smirked, leading Steve through a maze of scattered trash, stray cardboard boxes, and tipped over trashcans.

“What are ya doin'?”

“Whaddya _think?”_ His voice and his eyes and his smile teased. Playfully, Bucky pushed Steve up against the brick wall of the most guarded off corner of the alleyway. Plush lips joined with his own before he even had time to formulate a snarky reply of some sort.

_Oh, right._

Bucky’s muscled arms enfolded Steve’s thin waist, calloused hands rested gently on the small of his back. Steve’s finely boned hands passionately grasped the collar of Bucky’s button down shirt. His body practically magnetized towards Bucky’s because _this, this is how it was supposed to be._

As he carefully placed kisses underneath Steve’s ear, down his neck, and to the bony part where his collarbone jutted out beneath thin skin, Bucky’s breath was hot and lustful, yet as soft as the Brooklyn air. Steve felt himself floating because Bucky _really loved him,_ and it wasn’t just that brotherly love, because he was kissing him and holding him, and even after two years it was sometimes still so hard to believe because it was _so perfect_ and—

“Hey! You two! The fuck d’ya think you're doin'?” A harsh, angry voice penetrated the sanctity of their kiss, the calmness of the night. A young white figured emerged around the corner. His bleak brown eyes were grating, and his plump nose was scrunched up into something very obviously resembling disgust. 

Steve felt his heart drop. Tonight was so much like a dream, but dreams really didn’t last, and everything turned sour eventually. 

All his life Steve had been taught that it was oh so, _so_ wrong to be gay, and now that he’d been caught, a fresh wave of terror hit him, clawing at him savagely and unmercifully. Steve usually had so many things to say to bullies, things that almost assuredly got his face bashed in, but his usually copious supply of retorts vanished in the suddenly oppressive summer air. Didn’t matter anyways, he didn’t need words to get his face bashed in this time. 

“Why don’t you back off?” Bucky growled, stepping in front of Steve like a shield. 

“You kiddin’ me, ya fag? I ain’t gon letya two muck up the neighborhood. We don’t need your Godforsaken kind here,” the words were scathing, biting into Steve’s flesh and not daring to let go. He wanted to cry, wanted to sob, because this was just _not fucking right,_ but instead his face turned hard and indignant. Because this was _not fucking right,_ and Steve found himself not giving a damn about all the lessons he had been taught growing up (that homosexuals are sinners, will burn in hell), because all he really cared about was being with Bucky. 

Bucky’s face turned into something ferocious. His entire being rippled with tension, and his hands jammed into fists. “Back off,” he spat, “Nothin’ goin’ on here is none of your damn business.” 

“Oh damn right it’s my business,” the man’s voice grew angrier, full of more self-proclaimed righteousness. “And I’m reportin’ this to the police, so you two _fags_ better stay right here.” 

Steve’s resent betrayed him, and the terror hurled back full force. “C’mon, that’s not needed, ‘kay? Nothin’ gonna happen here again. No need to get the police,” he tried not to beg. 

“You ain’t gon trick me. I know how you all are,”thin lips spat, and Steve’s heart lurched and his stomach dropped to God knows where, because he saw two NYPD uniforms in the distance. 

Bucky must have seen it too, because his aggrieved expression turned frightened and resigned. They both should have known this was bound to happen, Steve mentally berated himself. Because this wasn’t the type of dream where the sun set happily, and the city was friendly, and he and Bucky lived happily ever after. It was reality, just plain goddamn reality and there was nothing _right_ about it. And of course it was going to happen like this, of course. For all the faith Steve tried to have in the good of people and in the good of America, he also knew that injustice and hate was rampant. He knew that the world was fucking unfair. 

The pudgy nosed man’s voice was drowned out by the buzzing in Steve’s ears, and Steve hadn’t been aware that anything more had happened until two blue-uniformed officers marched in his direction.

As his vision slowly refocused, Steve saw it. 

Disgust was etched clearly on their faces. 

It wasn’t that Steve couldn’t find any more words to say. He sure as hell had _a lot_ of things to say. At the same time though, he had nothing left to say at all. Because what more could he say? What more could he do? He couldn’t change religious dogma, couldn’t change society’s perceptions, couldn’t change the law. Homosexuality was illegal. His very love for Bucky was illegal. Talking, he knew, would only make it worse. And for presumably the first time in his life, he didn’t have it in him to stand up for injustice, to make things worse. 

As they were shoved into the back of the police car, Steve saw an anger tinted sadness in Bucky’s sunken expression. Bucky’s eyes were mourning and desperate, and Steve wasn’t having an asthma attack, but he could barely find any air to breath. It was okay if he hurt, if he was in pain, but not Bucky, oh _please no,_ not Bucky. Bucky didn’t deserve any of this. 

Bucky leaned towards Steve, burying his face in his clavicle. Even in the tense, stale air of the police car, Bucky was soft and loving and everything that was okay. Even if everything was not okay. 

“This is bad,” Steve whispered dumbly, as if it were a secret. 

“No shit,” Bucky huffed, of _fucking course_ this was bad. 

“Love you, jerk,” he ran an affectionate hand through Bucky’s smooth brown hair.

“Love you too, punk.”

Steve’s shoulder grew damp with tears, and all the way to the precinct, he ran a tired and tender hand through ruffled hair. 

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't want to make this fic real dark and painful, but I also wanted to stay truthful to the homophobia a gay couple would have experienced during the time (and unfortunately now). However, I imagine the reactions would often be much more violent, but I didn't want this to be a violent fic.
> 
> Please tell me what you think! Comments and critiques are much appreciated!


End file.
